Pin (10 page)

“Is that so?” I wanted to change the topic, but Ursula was determined to go on about him.

“Yes. She's his mother's sister. His mother's got some kind of a lung condition. He's a nice boy, very polite.”

“Young man, you mean.”

“Yes,” she said smiling. She didn't pay any attention to my sarcasm. “He doesn't talk much,
kind of inhibited, I think. Maybe the war experience did that to him.”

“You seem to know a great deal about him.”

“That's only from prying with my questions. That little bit of information is a week's worth of questions, believe it or not.”

“No wonder he stares at you. You've been showing him a great deal of attention.”

“Oh, I have not. Not any more than anyone would. He doesn't have any wrong ideas about me.”

“What does Miss Spartacus think of him?”

“She hasn't really met him.”

“I thought so. He deliberately comes to you.”

“Oh, Leon, you're such a little detective,” she said, and waltzed upstairs. Pin laughed, but I didn't think it was all that funny.

Every day after that, Ursula came home with one story or another about Stanley Friedman. She said he was reading a lot of religious books, concentrating on the Far Eastern religions. Gradually, I got a full physical description of him. She made him sound like Enrol Flynn or somebody. I was sure she was exaggerating. According to her, he had long, wavy, light brown hair, very soft looking, blue-green eyes that kept a continual dancing smile on his face, a sharp, straight nose and a strong mouth. His complexion was dark and he was at least six feet tall. From the way she talked about his teeth, you'd have thought he advertised toothpaste.

“He gives the impression of great strength. Very broad shouldered, long, powerful-looking forearms and a tight, slim waist.”

“Sounds like Vic Tanny.”

“If it weren't for that limp …”

“Did he describe his war wound to you and how he got it? I'm sure you must've asked him.”

“He stepped on a mine. It blew his lower leg off right then and there. It's amazing he didn't bleed to death.”

“Amazing.” I looked at Pin and smiled.

“But with this modern war, he says a lot of guys were saved who would have died in World War Two or even Korea.”

“Incredible. Isn't it wonderful, Pin?” He pretended not to have heard my sarcasm. Ursula was finally beginning to get annoyed, though. I could see it in her face, the way she tried to hold it together stiffly.

“He's originally from the Bronx.”

“Is he? How's his dying mother?”

“Not so good. They thought the air up here would help her, but it hasn't done much. He says she has a degenerating condition.”

“Tell me,” I said, leaning over toward her, “with all this conversation going on, how does he get time to read?”

“We don't really talk that much. I admit, we talk more than we did at first, but not very much. Miss Spartacus frowns upon long conversations in the library.”

“Good for Miss Spartacus,” I said, and I got up and went upstairs to write.

Finally one night she didn't come home right after work. In fact, Pin and I had supper alone. I was very worried because she hadn't done anything like that for the longest time. Pin sat there very coolly. He knew all the time. I admired his insight. I mean, the thought passed through my mind, but only for an
instant. He was obviously convinced. It was almost as if he could read someone's future. He knew the inevitability of what was to come. Stoic, inscrutable Pin.

“I wonder if I should keep all this stuff hot for Ursula,” I said, testing him.

“I don't think so. She'll have eaten somewhere when she gets home.”

“I hope she had enough money with her to pay for the food,” I said, continuing to tease out responses from him. “She's so absentminded about money. She hardly ever takes anything but some small change along with her when she goes to work.”

“She won't need any. Someone will pay for her.”

“She won't like that. Ursula doesn't like strangers doing things for her.”

“It won't be a stranger.”

“You bastard,” I said, raising my voice. “Why don't you just come out and say it—say it.”

“What?”

“Ursula's gone somewhere with that crippled soldier with the dying mother.”

“So?”

“She could have called me and said she wasn't coming home for supper. She could have done that, couldn't she? She knew we'd be waiting for her.”

“Must've been a spur-of-the-moment deal. What's the difference? There's no real harm done, is there?”

“I would have prepared less.”

“Big deal.”

“You're always defending her. Always.” He didn't say anything further. I began to feel stupid for getting so excited and obviously emotional over Ursula's actions, so I dropped the topic and finished
eating. Afterward, Pin and I went into the living room and did some reading. Along about nine or nine-thirty, I heard a car drive up and a door slam. A moment later, Ursula entered. I had made up my mind to act very nonchalant and unconcerned about where she had been and what she had done.

“Hi,” she said, coming into the living room.

“Hi,” I said dryly. I looked back at my book immediately. She walked right over to Pin, ignoring my lack of interest. It was her way of getting me to listen to something when she knew that I wasn't particularly keen on it.

“Oh, Pin,” she said, “Pin, I had the most wonderful time, the best time I've had these past few years.” She squeezed herself and turned around like a dumb schoolgirl. I had to respond.

“Figured you were having a good time somewhere,” I said.

“Oh, I did. We went out to eat, took a long ride all the way to Port Jervis and ate in a restaurant by the water. He talked and talked. He's so interesting,” she said, turning completely back to me again. “He's seen so much and he's a very sensitive person. I mean,” she said sitting on the hassock right by Pin, “he hasn't just lived through events, he's reacted to them and been affected by them.”

“We still don't know whom you are talking about,” I said, looking down into the book. I wasn't reading anything, though. All the words were a blur.

“Oh, yes, that's right.” She laughed. “How stupid of me. I'm talking about Stan.”

“Stan?”

“You know, Stanley Friedman.”

“The boy with the leg blown off.”

“Yes,” she answered, closing her eyes and opening
them. “But when you're with him, you don't think of that.”

“Well, I don't see how you would, unless you were down there washing his feet,” I said, laughing. Pin didn't laugh. Ursula looked at me for a moment and then turned back to Pin.

“It was horrible, Pin. The killing he saw, the women and children he says he saw burned and maimed. It was horrible just to hear about it.”

“How many did he kill?” I asked. She didn't turn around.

“He killed people, but he said he never knowingly shot a woman or child.”

“Sure.”

“He cracked up from what he saw,” she went on, speaking very quickly. “They had to send him to a hospital because he had a nervous breakdown. He said he came to a village that had been hit by napalm and there were these children still being held in the arms of their mothers…. He couldn't even describe it.”

“He's probably bulling you.”

“No, I believe him.”

“I thought he stepped on a mine.”

“He did,” she said turning sharply. “After they sent him back to the fighting.”

“So now he spends his time sitting in a library reading about Far Eastern religions?”

“He's looking for an answer, a reason. He says he wants to dedicate himself to understanding what it is in us that makes us do the things we do.”

“That's not very flattering.”

“What isn't? What are you talking about now?”

“Dedicating himself to that and then taking you out to dinner.”

“Leon, sometimes you talk like an idiot, you know,” she said, and she stood up. “I don't know why you're being so nasty. I don't, I really don't,” she said, her voice getting very high-pitched. Then she started to cry and ran out of the room and upstairs.

“Jesus,” I said.

“She's right, you know,” Pin said.

“What right? What?”

“You've been pretty unpleasant to her, Leon.”

“I was just teasing her a bit.”

“Yeah, but you see how happy she is, how seriously she takes it all. Why don't you apologize to her. She's really the happiest I've seen her since your parents died.”

“Apologize! For what?” He didn't say anything. “Oh, damn. All right,” I said getting up. “I'll go up and wipe her little tears away.”

As I walked up the stairs, I felt my hand grow numb again. The feeling crept up my fingers, over my knuckles and to my wrist. I held my arm up and let the hand dangle for a moment. It was puzzling, but not painful. Ursula was sprawled across her bed crying. For a moment I just stood there looking in. I had a confusing reaction. First I enjoyed her unhappiness, but then I felt sorry for her and lousy that I had caused her to be unhappy. So I walked in and sat next to her on the bed.

“OK,” I said. “I'm sorry. I was just having a little fun.”

“You … you've been doing this to me ever since I told you about Stanley. I tried to ignore it, hoping you would stop.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. You have, Leon,” she said,
wiping her eyes and sitting up on her elbow. “I've been paying attention to you. I don't know why you've been doing it. You don't even know him. You haven't even met him, yet you act as though you hate him.”

“That's ridiculous. If I haven't met him, I couldn't deliberately not like him, could I? You're overreacting. I've just been having fun with you, that's all. Come on,” I said, stroking her hair, “I said I was sorry.”

“It's just that he's the first interesting person I've met in that place since I've been there.”

“Sure.”

“And I enjoy his company and I find him pleasant. There's nothing phony about him.”

“All right.”

“You will, too, Leon.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Then you want to meet him?”

“What'dya mean?”

“I mean, could I have him over one night, maybe for dinner?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

“Because I told him all about you,” she said, smiling now, “and he says I have a brother complex because I brag so much about you.”

“I bet.”

“No, really.” She paused for a moment and looked down. “I even told him about Pin,” she added.

“You did?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What did he say then?”

“He wants to meet him too.” She looked up at me quickly.

“Good,” I said. I wanted him to meet Pin. I wanted her to bring him home and introduce him to Pin. That would be something. I had seen the effect Pin had on people who first met him. It wouldn't take long for this guy to understand that Pin wasn't the kind of person you could snow over. Pin always saw through false people. Phonies who stood before him immediately felt naked and exposed. They became speechless and confused. I was convinced that this guy was probably three-quarters hot air. He must've seen that Ursula was very impressionable and gone right to it. But it would be a different story when he confronted Pin. I couldn't wait.

“Sure,” I said. “Why don't you bring him around this Saturday night? That'll give you a chance to whip up a roast, a real dinner. I'll go get some good wine. Pin loves to sit around sipping good wine before dinner and talking to people.”

“That sounds great, Leon. I just knew you'd want to meet him.”

“I do, I do. And Pin does too. I know he does because after you described him to us, he said I'd like to meet that guy. He sounds like a terrific person.”

She got up and went to the bathroom to wash her face. Her makeup had spread from the tears and made streaks down her cheeks. I told her it looked like war paint and she laughed. I watched her for a while. She talked while she undressed. I heard all about her meal and the different topics that she and Stan had discussed going and coming back from Port Jervis. She said that Stanley was having a hard time readjusting. In a way, she said, he was drifting.

“He's trying to find himself again, and I'd like to
help him as much as I can.” She stepped out of her skirt and unfastened her bra.

“Yeah, that's nice. Now what are you doing?”

“I'm going to take a shower and relax. I'll be down in a while and watch some television with you and Pin.”

“OK,” I said. She stepped behind the glass doors of the shower stall and turned on the water. I watched her moving behind the glazed window. Her body took on a distorted, impressionistic fluidity because of the design in the glass.

I remained there for a while and watched. It had a wild effect on me. I got dizzy and had to sit down for a moment. Ursula was singing. She seemed happier than I had seen her for a long while. For some reason, that annoyed me, and finally, I left because of a growing feeling of antagonism for her. When I got downstairs, I didn't say anything to Pin for a while. He got impatient.

“Well?”

“She's all right. She's fine. She's terrific, in fact.”

“So why are you so uptight?”

“Who's uptight?”

“Come off it, Leon. I know when you're uptight.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I said, “do I have to put up with everybody's little temperament? I'm not uptight, damnit.”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. I walked over and stood beside him. “I have so many conflicting feelings going through me sometimes. You know,” I added in almost a whisper, “sometimes I feel as if I could commit great violence, even murder.”